How To Break a Curse in 1000 Not So Easy Steps
by Tifaching
Summary: My version of what the Winchesters were doing between Dead Man's Blood and Salvation. Written for this prompt at spn summergen on LJ: John accidentally annoys the wrong fairy, which causes the fairy to backlash and de-age Sam to the age of 2. Dean doesn't exactly know what's going on considering Sam was 22 the last time he checked. John has a lot of explaining to do.
1. Chapter 1

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Twenty-two

"So," Sam asked for what seemed like the thousandth time, "are you sure about this?"

"Am I sure about what?" John's temper had already been stretched to the breaking point by Sam's endless questioning of his plan. If he hadn't been absolutely sure that he couldn't handle this alone, he would have pulled the truck over and tossed the kid out on his sceptical ass.

"Are you sure that going after this thing this way is what we should be doing? Are you sure that going after this thing at all is what we should be doing? I thought nothing mattered but the demon."

John gave his son a level stare. "The demon does matter. A lot. But we've got no idea where it is right now. Until we find it, we're at a standstill. We do know that there's something bad right here in these woods and people are disappearing. Should we just ride on out and leave them to it?"

Sam's lip twisted, and he shook his head. John decided to take that as his youngest agreeing with him, though it could just as easily have been Sam expressing his displeasure with this whole setup.

"Okay," Sam sighed. "So...it's a fairy."

"Yeah, Sam. It's a fairy. And right now I'm pretty sure there's only one of them. There's no reason for it to even know we're here, never mind expect us to go after it. If we wait, a dozen of the damned nuisances could show up and then we'd have to call in a lot more back up to take them out."

"Well, if you hadn't left Dean back at the hotel, we'd have more help now." The look Sam shot his father was venomous.

"Your brother's hurt, Sam. There's no way I was bringing him."

"He wanted to come."

"And I should have let him go after this thing with a sprained ankle?"

"I've seen you drag him along on a hunt with worse. I think the pain meds you gave him might have been a little overkill, too. I can't remember the last time you knocked one of us totally out for something so minor."

"It was necessary," John said repressively.

Sam snorted out a contemptuous breath. "Yeah, right."

"Damn it, Sam!" John seethed, counting to ten in his head, "You know he would have followed us if I hadn't put him out. Stop acting like you're two years old!"

Sam was just as livid as his father. "What I'm acting like is an adult with a mind of my own. If I was acting like a two year old, I'd just agree with everything you said!"

John stared at him incredulously. "When you were two," he informed his son through clenched teeth; silently counting to twenty not having accomplished a thing, "you were just as pig headed and contrary as you are now. You know why I had to leave your brother out of this. This thing would be targeting him specifically and I'm not taking any chances."

"Not with Dean," Sam muttered, and his father resisted the urge to smack him.

"Not with you either. For the last time, since you're not the oldest, it's not after you. You don't interest it. I'm not going to lose you forever if it gets away." John sighed tiredly and rubbed his eyes. Sam was arguing now just for the sake of arguing. He knew the risks and didn't want Dean in harm's way any more than his father did. And this was the one creature that John was sure wasn't after his youngest. "It's not after you," he repeated more softly.

"Yeah, well, we'll see." Sam responded darkly, as he loaded his pistol with iron rounds.

The forest glade was sun-dappled, with a tiny stream trilling through the middle. Butterflies filled the clearing, flitting on jewel-like wings around a gently glowing form seated by the water.

"Oh, come on," Sam muttered. "Could this get any more clichéd?"

The fairy floated to its feet as John and Sam paused just inside the clearing and stared at them suspiciously. "It could," it replied, responding to Sam's question. "You should hope that it doesn't." Its gaze flashed back and forth between them. "Usually your kind is more surprised to see me."

John shrugged. "I heard what was going on in town and figured I might find one of your kind here. I'm sort of representing some of the other fathers in town. You know. The ones who are missing a son."

The fairy studied John carefully, then switched its scrutiny to Sam. "You are this one's father?" it asked.

"I am."

"He is not your only son." The certainty in the being's musical voice made John's eyes narrow.

"He's the only one that's coming." The menace in his father's tone sent a tremor through Sam.

"You brought the wrong one," the fairy hissed, teeth bared in sharp displeasure as it glared over John's shoulder at Sam.

"Like I'd let my eldest go anywhere near one of Oberon's goons." John gave the golden haired figure an unfriendly smile.

"This one will not do."

"No shit." John would have loved to tell Sam that he'd told him so, but he didn't dare take his attention away from the fairy long enough to do it.

"Bring the other," the creature breathed, the magic in its words so pronounced they almost shimmered in the air.

"No." John replied mildly, raising his gun.

"No is not a word we fair folk will hear from mere mortals."

"Well, that's too bad," John drawled. "Because it's a word we mere mortals like to use when dealing with full of themselves fair folk. Let's try it again. No. Did you have any trouble hearing that?"

Thin, pale lips curled up humourlessly. "It was very clear. I can see how fond you are of speaking that word. Now, let me ask you: how fond are you of hearing it?"

The air around the fairy swirled with light and John could feel the power in its next words.

_To me you dare to speak that word  
Because I thin the human herd.  
To you he'll speak one thousand "nos"  
Before your boy to manhood grows._.

John snorted and raised his gun. "My boys are already grown Twinkles. You should have come up with better poetry for your last words."

"Were already grown, mortal," the fairy cackled, grinning unpleasantly. "Kill me before the spell is reversed and a child he will stay."

A moment later, John was staring at the empty air where the fairy had been. Then he looked down and to his left, where a pile of denim and flannel swallowed up a wailing toddler.

John walked through the hotel room door, cradling Sam against his chest. Dean lay on the bed, just where his father had left him; drool running from the corner of his mouth, but he stirred groggily at the twin sounds of slamming door and whining child.

"Down, Da!" a tiny voice piped, rattling through Dean's brain. "Wan' Dean."

"Dean's sleeping right now, Sammy. How about you just stay with me?"

"No!"

The shrill scream forced Dean to crack his reluctant eyelids open and stare blearily at the sight in front of him. His father was holding a struggling kid who was wearing a diaper that had been fashioned from one of Sam's uglier t-shirts. Sam himself was nowhere in sight and Dean hitched himself up onto his elbows. He shook his head, hoping to clear it, but stilled immediately as nausea threatened to overwhelm him.

"What happened?" he asked between clenched teeth. "Who's the kid?"

His father stared at him for a moment. "It's Sam," he said, like it should have been the most obvious thing in the world.

Dean couldn't quite wrap his spinning head around John's words. "Sam's bigger than that," he protested, waving one hand vaguely toward the ceiling. He squinted, like that would make the scene in front of him make sense. "And he's got more hair."

"The fairy cursed him." John's tone dared Dean to make an issue of it, but his son was too buzzed to care.

"You went after the fairy?"

John nodded, tightening his grip on the wiggling toddler.

"Without me?"

"Obviously."

"And now Sam's..." Dean flopped his head back onto the pillow. "Forever?"

"No. Not forever."

"Oh," Dean sighed, relieved. "What is it, one of those twenty-four hour things? A week? Does a beautiful princess have to kiss him? What?"

"He has to say "no"."

"No?"

"No."

"Well, this is Sam we're talking about here. He should be Sasquatch sized again already."

"He has to say it a thousand times." This time the tone in John's voice sounded slightly panic-stricken. Dean couldn't say he blamed him.

Two

Dean stared bemusedly at the tiny child peeping at him over the arm of the couch. The kid certainly seemed to know him, though he had no clue how that worked. The Dean this Sammy knew should be about two feet shorter and a hell of a lot less buff. He could see bits of his brother in the tilt of the head; the wide hazel eyes. The mouth, alternating between sweet smiles and petulant twists was also very familiar. It _could_ be Sam. His father said that it was, and he'd remember what Sam looked like at two way better than Dean would.

"Hey, squirt," he said with a grin. It was kind of nice to be looking down at his brother again. He winced as he dragged the small figure up onto his chest. His ankle, wrapped in an ace bandage and freezing under a bag of ice, was still pretty sore, but at least now he had the chance to rest it. Until Sam was de-miniaturized, they weren't going anywhere. "You ready for a nap?"

"No!" Sam shrieked, bouncing on his brother's stomach. "No nap."

Dean glanced over to where his father was making two more marks on a sheet of paper that was still distressingly bare. No was one of the first words any kid learns and Sam had been no exception. It was also one of the only words he was comfortable with at this point and though they'd gotten almost one hundred since this whole nightmare had begun, they still had a hell of a lot of negatives to go. Asking Sammy if he wanted a nap was a good way to get one, as was informing him that he was getting peas for breakfast, lunch or dinner. Eventually he'd get tired of answering yes or no questions, pout, and refuse to say anything. Telling him to say no got them exactly nowhere. He'd stare at his brother or father blankly, and not speak for hours. John seemed to think that was the curse at work, but Dean wasn't so sure. Telling Sam to do anything was a sure-fire way to get him to do just the opposite. Why should he be any different just because he was two again?

Dean vaguely remembered his brother being happiest when he was kept on a schedule, so he tried to space the questions out accordingly. His plan to have the next yes or no question wait for half an hour or so was derailed, however, by a ripping explosion from Sam's diapered backside.

"Sammy, did you just take a sh.. poop?"

"No," his brother replied with a winsome grin, the disgustingly foul odor wafting through the air giving the lie to his statement.

"Ungh," Dean groaned, lifting Sam up and holding him over the edge of the couch. "Dad, do you think you could take him?"

John looked up and sighed, wrinkling his nose as the aroma of Sammy's diaper reached him. "I didn't think I'd have ever have to do this again after he got potty trained." He grabbed a fresh Pamper from the box and a stained towel from the top of the television before plucking Sam from his brother's grasp.

"No, Da!" Sam's chubby little legs lashed out as he tried to escape. "Don' wanna!" he wailed. "No, no!"

John gave Dean a wry grin as he tried to pin his youngest down long enough to remove the dirty diaper. "We had a conversation in the car right before this happened and your brother seemed to think he had been a very reasonable and agreeable two year old."

Dean stared at Sam, whose beet red face was screwed up as he screamed "no", like a broken record. "You're sure he'll turn back after one thousand? 'Cause this is just..."

"NO!" Sam interrupted him and a shimmer shivered through the room. John and Dean both stared at the child lying on the towel, who was now roughly twice the size he had been moments before. "Ewwww!" Sam bellowed, as he twisted out of his stunned father's grasp and ran to the bathroom. "I got poop on me!"

John grabbed his tally sheet from the table. "How many do you think that was? Ten? Twelve?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"That's a hundred. A hundred and he aged. Two years, maybe? He looks about four now."

"So he's not going to stay two the whole time?" Dean sighed with relief. "Thank God."

John quirked a lip at the half full box of diapers and the small pile of toddler clothes folded beside it, before giving Dean an appraising look. "That ankle up for a shopping trip? Can't exactly take him with me this time." That he wasn't going anywhere without Sam went without saying. Sam could say no fifty times while his father was at Goodwill and John wasn't going to risk missing even one of them.

"Sure thing," Dean replied, trying not to grimace as he got to his feet. The ankle really did feel better. Another day and he'd be, well, still really sore, but he'd get by. "What size do four year olds wear?"

"Damned if I remember," his father shrugged. "Ask someone when you get there. And Dean?" he added as his son limped out the door. "Get some stuff for a six year old too."

"Daddy?" John turned and stared at Sam who had the bathroom door cracked just wide enough to stick his head out. "I can have a bath, now?"

Four

Since the "no" didn't have to be spoken in anger as long as it was spoken in John's hearing, Dean figured that turning this into a learning experience that didn't involve arguing wouldn't hurt anyone. His little brother was freakin' adorable and the last thing Dean wanted to do was fight with him. Sam at four was just as hazy to him as Sam at two had been, and this curse, while it sucked big time, wasn't all bad. He was getting to relive Sam's childhood with none of the crap he'd had to deal with the first time around. Sam was actually a pretty fun kid, and Dean was determined that all three of them were going to enjoy that for as long as it lasted.

A hotel room was no place for an active pre-schooler and while eight year old Dean had to just stay there and deal with it, twenty-seven year old Dean was more than old enough to take Sam to the park. Getting Sam out into the fresh air and sunshine of a beautiful spring day was a fantastic way to chase the crankiness out of him. And getting a "no" out of him in a fun way instead of a fight? Priceless.

"Yes or no, Sammy," Dean would call out, painfully hobbling after the darting four year old. "Is that a swingset?" He'd point to the slide, the teeter totter, the sandbox and get three gleeful _nos_ from the giggling child. Dandelions weren't kittens or dinosaurs or ice cream cones. Trees weren't houses or airplanes or trains. It was almost too easy and Dean was going to work it for as long as he could.

John spent most of his time on a bench with a notebook and a sheaf of papers, surreptitiously watching Sam and Dean have the time of their lives: his youngest was never out of his father's earshot these days. Every once in a while he'd join in the fun, scooping Sammy up for a piggy back ride, or pushing him high into the air on the swings, but mostly he was content to let his kids play.

"Ready to go, boys?" he'd call from time to time and Dean would always stop and ask Sam for his opinion on the matter.

"Well, I'm not ready," Dean would whisper. "Are you?" Sam never was ready to go back to the tiny room and it was his job to tell their father that.

"No, Daddy," he'd call over to John. "We don't wanna go yet."

Eventually, hunger and exhaustion trumped fun and they'd head back to the car, Sam drooping in Dean's arms. John hung back a little, watching Dean with his little brother and his throat tightened with the memory of himself doing this exact thing with four year old Dean. Dean turned in time to catch his father's expression and his own face went from happy to worried in a flash.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," John replied slowly. "It's just…you'd make a hell of a father."

"Me?" Dean huffed out a startled laugh, cutting his eyes away. There was no way he'd ever bring a child into this life, but the unexpectedly sad look on his dad's face stilled his tongue before he could let those words out. "Nah," he said ruffling Sam's hair. "I'm okay with just being a big brother right now."

Six

The flashcards were Dean's idea and, if he did say so himself, they were kind of brilliant. Sam at six had clamoured to be read to and had avidly followed his brother's finger as it underlined each word. Even that young, Sammy had been a pretty smart cookie, and Dean figured that a few simple words wouldn't be beyond him now.

He wrote each one out in red magic marker; painstakingly printing them on the backs of three by five index cards. _Up, down, no, dog, cat, Dad, no, Dean, Sam, yes, no_. After a minute's thought, he added _salt_. It was an extremely useful word to know in their profession, even if Sammy had no idea what their profession even was yet.

By mid-afternoon of the first day, Sam had all those cards memorized and Dean was forced to make more. "Should have known that would be too easy," he said with a proud grin. "You're way too much of a brainiac for those to keep you satisfied."

Sam rocketed around the room chanting, "I'm reading. I'm reading," as Dean filled out the new cards.

_Car, road, sun, moon, top, ball, no, no, no_ and a slew of others joined the first set of words and Dean shuffled them like he was about to deal a hand of poker. Sam watched raptly, his small hands mimicking Dean's motions.

"Let me try," he demanded, reaching to grab the cards.

"I think you're a little too small for this, kiddo," Dean replied, fanning the cards and holding them out of his brother's reach, "but if you promise to work on these words until dinner, I'll teach you how to shuffle a regular deck of cards. Okay?"

"Okay, Dean."

Dean ignored his father's annoyed look and shuffled the cards some more. If a question wasn't something Sam was going to answer "no" to, John felt that it was a question that could wait until he was twenty-two again.

"No." Sam stared at the first card Dean had flipped with a look that almost matched his father's. "Don't do that one, Dean. We already had it all the time."

"What one, Sammy?"

"That one." Sam pointed and Dean turned the card over and stared at it.

"I just made this one. How could we have had it 'all the time'?"

"We just did."

"All right, but if you don't work on all the cards like you promised I don't have to teach you how to shuffle after we eat."

Sam's lip poked out and he reluctantly nodded as he puffed out a sigh. "N O spells no."

Eight

Eight was a good age, Dean decided. Young enough for Sam to still be fun, but old enough for Dean to get things across to him. Plus, he could read. A little. Enough.

He wasn't going to read "_no_" off of a flashcard any more though, he'd made that pretty damned clear the first time Dean had tried to go back to them. Big kids read books and Sam was a big kid, not a baby. Well, Dean didn't have any books, but what he did have was a lifetime's worth of experience that he could turn into really cool stories. Sam would love them. He could even be the hero and what kid could resist that? The kid in question was currently staring perplexedly at a loose leaf notebook, silently reading "Sam Winchester and the Apple Orchard", which Dean considered to be one of his finest creations.

"Come on, Sammy," Dean urged. "You're supposed to read it out loud."

"I want to see what happens first," Sam muttered distractedly.

"Well, I want to know what happens too. I'm dying from the suspense, here! Read it to me."

"You wrote this, Dean." Sam gave his brother an exasperated glance. "You already know what happens."

"Read it to Dad, then. I bet he'd love to hear all about your adventures in the haunted orchard."

Sam eyed his father doubtfully, then sighed. "Okay."

'_No,' Sam said stubbornly. 'No, no, no, no, no. Dean, I want to go help Dad.'_

'But Sammy,' Dean said. 'Dad wants us to go find some people who got lost.'

"I don't care what Dad said." Sam paused for another sidelong glance at his father. When nothing but a raised eyebrow and a curled up lip was forthcoming, he continued. "_We don't always have to do what he says."_

"Of course we do, Sam," Dean said. 'He gave us an order and we have to follow it.'

'No we don't.' Sam got out of the car and grabbed his backpack. 'And I'm not going to.'

'Dean got out of the car too.' Sam's forehead furrowed. "If Dad's not there, whose car are we in?"

"My car, kiddo."

"Oh." Sam thought about that for a moment. "Cool."

"'_Sam walked off down the road, and Dean drove away_.'" Sam looked up at his brother with hurt eyes. "You left me?"

"It's just a story, Sammy. One where you didn't want to go with me and I didn't want to go with you. We kind of left each other."

Sam turned his attention back to the book, but he didn't seem any happier. "How come I don't want to help the lost people?"

Dean looked at his father helplessly.

"You do, Sammy," John came in with the save. "But maybe whatever I'm doing is so important to you that you have to make a hard decision. It wouldn't be easy for you to just leave people if they were lost, right?"

"No," Sam replied, chewing on his lip. "I must want to help you really bad."

"Why don't you keep on reading, Sammy," John prodded. "I want to know how this all comes out."

'_On the way to find his father, Sam ran into a girl named Meg, who pretended to be his friend, but was really an evil..._' Sam paused again. "Dean, you spelled witch wrong."

"Let me see that." Dean took the notebook from Sam. "Wow, yeah, I did." A few quick strokes of the pen later, he handed the book back. "Sorry, kiddo. Try it now."

'_...but was really an evil witch. Sam and Meg went to the bus station, but there was no bus. The next bus to where Sam's dad was didn't leave until the next day. Sam called Dean to see what was happening, but Dean had found no trace of the lost people yet. He asked questions in town to see if anyone had seen the lost people. "No," everyone told him. "No, we have not seen them." Dean told Sam that he had found a creepy scarecrow in an apple orchard by the town and he thought it might have something to do with the lost people.'_

'The people in town were bad people and they took Dean to their orchard, but they knew he was too awesome to stay lost there so they tied him to a tree.' Sam nodded as he read that while John let out an amused snort. Dean decided to concentrate on fact that his little brother agreed that he was awesome and ignored his father completely.

'_The next day Sam called Dean and called him, but there was no answer. Meg tried to get Sam to go on the bus with her, but Sam told her no. "No," Sam said. "Dean is not answering the phone and I think he is in trouble. There is no way he wouldn't answer unless he was tied to a tree or something. I'm going back to help him.'_

'Meg was very mad, but Sam still told her no and then he _stole a car__ borrowed a bike to get back to his brother. Sam got there just as the scarecrow was coming to get Dean and make sure that he never found his way out of the orchard. Dean had a plan, but Sam's was better and they escaped from the evil scarecrow_.'

"What was my plan, Dean?" Sam asked.

"To untie me and run," Dean replied.

"What was your plan?"

"Well," Dean demurred, "I was still working on it."

"I saved you?"

Dean ruffled his brother's hair. "You sure did, squirt. "

Sam grinned happily and flipped back through the pages.

"Well?" Dean asked his father. "What did you think?"

"I'm thinking you might have left a few things out," John laughed. "And I wouldn't plan on a career writing children's books if I were you,"

"Aw, come on," Dean protested, "it was great! What do you want to read next, Sammy?" he asked with a grin. "Sam Winchester versus the Hookman or Sam Winchester and the Haunted Painting? I'm betting they're both going to turn out to be classics."

Ten

"This is as far as we're going?" Sam stared out of the Impala's window in confusion. "We barely even left town."

"Well, we're not done here yet Sammy," Dean shrugged, "and that other place was a disgusting bug pit."

"They're all disgusting bug pits, Dean. Dad's never moved us out of one before just because it was gross."

"He hasn't?"

"No. So how come we're doing it now?"

Dean gave his father a glance and shrugged. Because no matter how skeevy these places are, somebody's going to notice all these different little boys going in and out of our room and it's unlikely but possible that they might actually do something about it, isn't really an answer they can give. No matter how true it is. They move every time Sam ages; motel rooms and run-down apartments in this town aren't hard to come by.

"This place is closer to the job," John answered in his repressive, stop asking questions voice.

"What job?" Sam had never paid as much attention to that voice as Dean had.

"We're hunting a fairy," Dean said. Maybe the truth would get through to Sam this time and he'd get past ten in a hurry.

"Really?" Sam asked, awed. "What did it do?"

"It stole some people and it won't give them back," John replied. "Also, it cursed you into being a little boy again."

Sam turned to look out the window; tuning out as usual whenever the curse was mentioned. A couple of kids were kicking a soccer ball around the parking lot and Sam's eyes brightened. "Can I go play, Dad?"

Dean groaned; so much for getting Sam to twelve quickly.

"Maybe later," John grabbed the bags from the trunk and herded Sam toward their room. "We've got work to do first."

"What kind of work?" Sam asked as the door swung shut behind him.

"We're going to set up a shooting range and get some practice in. You miss the targets more often than you hit them and we're going to work on that today."

"I don't want to shoot," Sam frowned and changed the subject. "Besides, I've got homework to do. My history report is due next Wednesday and if I don't have it in on time, I'll get an F."

"Don't worry, Sam," John said, "by the time next Wednesday rolls around, I'm sure your history report isn't going to be a problem."

"Why not?" Sam looked pissed. "Are we leaving before then? No. No way. School's almost done for the year, Dad! Why can't we just stay?"

"Easy there, tiger." Dean put a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Dad didn't mean that we were leaving. He just meant he's sure you can get your report done with no problem. Besides, won't your teacher give the smartest kid in class an extension if he needs one?"

"No." Sam pulled out of Dean's grip and settled on the bed. "She told me the last time we had to "go out of town", that I couldn't keep turning my work in late; that it wasn't fair to the other kids."

"Okay," Dean shrugged, "how about we take you to the library after target practice. That work for you?"

"No," Sam said defiantly, "but it would work for me if we went to the library first."

Dean met his father's angry gaze squarely. "Still got the whole day ahead of us, Dad. How about we hit the library and all of us can get some research done. I'm sure there are lots of things you should be checking up on."

John nodded reluctantly. Up to this point he hadn't gotten any new intel on the fairy. If any more young men had disappeared, they hadn't been reported to the police. He also needed to make sure the demon hadn't popped up again, though if it had he couldn't really go after it with a kid of whatever age Sam would be when he found it. Whatever its plans for his son were, there was no way John was risking it getting its filthy hands on him when he was just a child. It was never going to get the chance to get near Sam if he had his way. "Library it is," he agreed. "But we _are_ training afterwards." His glare speared Sam. "Are you going to try and get out of it?"

"No, sir," Sam replied. "Just let me get the information for my report and then I'll shoot at tin cans for as long as you want."

John stared at Sam for a long moment. "You think you're too big to go over my knee, son?"

From the look on his face it was obvious that Sam wanted to say yes, but he thought better of it. "No, sir," he repeated.

"That's a good answer. Now get your butt in the car."

Sam sighed as they walked through the parking lot, his eyes tracking the boys with the soccer ball. Dean wrapped an arm around his shoulders and tugged him close, ignoring his attempt to squirm away.

"Don't worry about that report, kiddo. You'll do fine. And I think there'll be time for you to play some soccer too, if you want."

"There will?" Sam's face lit up as he wrapped Dean in a hug.

"Sure," Dean shrugged. As far as he was concerned, little Sam could go through his cursed time without training at all. When he was himself again it wouldn't matter what he'd done with his second childhood. "Why not?"

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Twelve

"Ooooh, Sammy. Check that one out."

"Leave me alone, Dean." Sam resolutely stared at his slice of pizza and tried to ignore his brother.

"Come on, Francis. Just take a look, it's not like you're going to go blind."

"Dean! No! Would you please just leave me alone?" The tips of Sam's ears were turning red and he shot a glance at his father, who was apparently ignoring the two of them while marking something down on that stupid paper he carried around everywhere.

"That girl over there has a book. She must be your type. Don't you want to go over and review it for her?"

Sam glanced at the girl two tables down and she was kind of cute. His age with short brown hair, freckles and a paperback copy of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone propped up in front of her. There was no way he was going over there to talk to her though. Girls were Dean's thing; just something else he was sure he'd never be as good as his big brother at.

"Come on, Sam. Wizards, witches, evil beings, ghosts; you love all that stuff. You could give her an education, yes you could." Dean waggled his eyebrows as his brother stared at him suspiciously.

"No, I don't 'love all that stuff'. You love all that stuff. Wait. How do you know what that book is about? Did you read it?"

"I didn't have to read it. Everybody in the whole world knows what it's about. What, you think I live in a hole?"

"I don't know what it's about. I've never even heard of it."

Now Dean's gaze was the one that was suspicious. "Yes you have."

"No, I haven't."

"Yes, you have."

"No, I haven't."

John pinched the bridge of his nose and fought the urge to tell Dean that he was way too old for this kind of back and forth with a twelve year old. From the looks they were getting from some of the adults surrounding them in the food court it might not be long before someone else did it for him and wouldn't that just be the icing on the cake. He wasn't going to interfere himself until the argument ran down, idiotic as it was. Popular culture wasn't something John spent much time recognizing, but even he was pretty sure that Harry Potter had burst onto the scene well after Sam was twelve. He sighed and thought that if Dean would have this kind of stupid, pointless argument with Sam more often, his brother would already be back to himself.

"Excuse me." A small voice interrupted Dean in the middle of his comeback and both he and his brother stared at the girl who was shyly smiling at Sam. Dean grinned and turned his attention back to his pizza while Sam's cheeks pinked up to match his ears.

"Um, hi," Sam said uncertainly, kicking Dean's ankle under the table when his brother snickered.

"Hi," the girl returned. "I heard you, um, talking and I just, um, here." She held the book out to Sam.

"Oh," Sam replied, startled. "No. I mean, thanks, but I can't take your book."

"It's okay," she said, laying it on the table. "I've already read it a few times and I think it's so awesome that everyone should read it." She leaned in toward Sam and whispered like she was telling a secret. "It's way better than the movie."

"A girl after your own heart, Sammy," Dean murmured, then grimaced as his brother's foot connected with his ankle again.

"Well, if you're sure," Sam smiled back at the girl and it turned out she blushed just as adorably as he did. "I'd love to read it."

"Great!" She took a deep breath and held out her hand. "I'm Allie."

"Sam."

John and Dean hid grins at the handshake, which lasted a fraction of a second and ended with the two pre-teens separating like they'd been scalded. Dean at twelve had been getting more than handshakes, but Sam had been a much slower bloomer.

"Well," Allie looked wistfully back at her table, "I've got to go now. Maybe I'll see you here again sometime."

"Maybe," Sam answered, his eyes following her until she disappeared down the hallway.

"So, loverboy." This time Dean kicked Sam under the table. "Want to come back here tomorrow and see what else you can score off of the ladies?"

"No." Sam picked up the book and tried to ignore his brother, but Dean wasn't having it.

"Yes, you do."

"No, I don't."

John rolled his eyes and grabbed his tray. "All right, you two. We're leaving before you get us thrown out." He headed for the exit, Sam and Dean falling in behind him. He gritted his teeth, keeping both hands on the steering wheel and mentally keeping count as the argument continued all the way back to the motel.

Fourteen

Sam walked through the door with a face like his father's after a bad hunt and threw himself onto the bed. "How come you never take me anywhere, Dean?" he asked with a scowl. "Why does Dad have to spend every second of every day following me around?"

_And so it begins_, Dean thought with a twinge of frustration. Sam still had hundreds of _nos_ to get through and it was probably going to be a fight for every last one of them. "You didn't have a good time?"

"No," Sam replied, as his father slammed the door and tossed two plastic bags at him. He gave his brother a look like Dean had just asked if he enjoyed poking his eyeballs with red hot pokers. "We went clothes shopping."

"And you're pissed because Dad didn't get you all the latest in geeky teen wear?"

"No," Sam muttered, pulling a couple of balled up t-shirts and a pair of faded jeans out of one of the bags. "I'm pissed because he didn't get me much that I could wear at all." Sam shook out the jeans and held them in front of him. "You could fit two of me in here."

Dean stared at the waist of the jeans and formed a mental picture of Sam inside of them. "Maybe one and a half," he conceded. "That's not too bad. We'll get you a belt."

"A belt?"

Dean hadn't thought it was possible for his brother to look more angry, but apparently he was wrong. It had always been way too easy to push Sammy's buttons. "You don't think a belt will help?"

"No, I don't think a belt will help. Look at the legs, Dean!"

Dean's gaze followed Sam's frown, from the waist of the jeans down the legs to Sam's feet and beyond. The blue denim clashed with the mustard yellow carpet for a good twelve inches past where it should have ended at Sam's ankles. Dean tried to keep his expression serious as he cocked an eyebrow at his father.

John just shrugged. "It's not going to be long before we need those and they were the only pair in the whole place that was going to be long enough. Figured I might as well pick them up now. Given how much grief he already gave me at the store, I'm thinking that his arguing over them here will only make them useful that much more quickly."

Dean winced as he pictured Sam and his father fighting over Sam's wardrobe at the second hand store. "Sorry I missed it," he said, turning his attention back to his brother. "It's okay, shrimp," he said earnestly, trying to look sincere. "We'll just roll up the cuffs."

"Roll up the cuffs?" Sam curled his lip at Dean. "They'd go all the way up to my knees!"

"So, you don't want to roll up the cuffs, then?"

"No! Dean, this is stupid!"

"Come on, Sammy. Before you know it, you'll be wearing them." It was true, Dean thought. Given the time frame so far, Sam would be wearing those pants in anywhere from a week to ten days.

"No I won't." Sam's face fell a little. "These jeans would even be too long for you. I'll never fit into them."

Dean was never quite sure what his brother saw when he looked at him. Did he see the nineteen year old that should be with him right now? Did he see the hardened hunter to whom he was the whole world? Whichever it was, Sammy still saw someone he could look up to. The time was coming, Dean remembered with a sinking feeling, when that would no longer be true in any sense.

"You'll be as tall as me some day, Sammy. Maybe even taller. I bet you'll even be taller than Dad."

"No way." Sam flashed a quick look at his father before looking back at Dean. His lips turned up as he grinned at the thought. "Taller than Dad? You really think so?"

"I know so, Sam." Dean grabbed the jeans and tossed them onto the bed. "I have a feeling that before you're done sprouting even those will be too short."

"I doubt it," Sam retorted, but his smile lifted Dean's heart. Maybe all out warfare could be avoided after all.

Sixteen

"Dean! I said no! How many more times are you going to make me say it?"

Dean sighed wearily and shot a beleaguered glance his father's way. "What's the count now?"

"Thirty-three until sixteen is over and done with, thank Christ," John muttered. "Two hundred and thirty-three until he's back to normal."

"Two hundred and thirty-three, Sammy."

"Two hundred and thirty-three what, dumbass?"

"I'm going to make you say "no" two hundred and thirty-three more times, Princess."

"That doesn't even make sense." Sam grabbed the reference book Dean had stolen from the library and stormed toward his bedroom.

"Want help with that research, Sammy?" Dean called after him.

"Not from you!" Sam yelled back.

"Could you be a little more specific?"

"No!" Sam punctuated the word with a slamming door and Dean turned to his father with a grin. There was no point in even trying to broker a detente now. Sam at sixteen had been a typical teenage nightmare of defiance and hormones and he was no different the second time around. "Two hundred and thirty-two."

John buried his head in his hands. "Terrific."

Eighteen

_Less than two hundred to go_, Dean kept telling himself. _We can do this_.

Eighteen was going to be like walking a tightrope, Dean thought. Sam could just pack up and leave if he wanted to. Would just pack up and leave. Had just packed up and left.

His brother was getting restless, getting ready; Dean recognized the signs. He hadn't realized what he was seeing the first time, but with the benefit of hindsight, he knew. Sam had a ticket to everything he wanted out of life and he was just itching to be on his way.

He was also avoiding their father like the plague. Sam wasn't a little kid anymore and it wasn't possible for John to keep him in his back pocket all the time. That was ratcheting up the tension when they were together even more. At this rate, Sam was going to take off for Palo Alto before they got the requisite hundred out of him. And that wasn't going to work out well for anyone.

John was getting just as restive as his son, unable to leave to hunt the fairy, both because missing any words from Sam would drag this out even longer and if the fairy managed to take him out, Sam might be stuck at eighteen forever. The demon was on his mind too. It hadn't turned up on any of his searches yet, but John knew that it was just a matter of time and Sam had to be himself again before _that_ hunt resumed.

Dean was in the middle, just like he'd been back in that last miserable summer together but this time he had surprise on _his_ side. He knew Sam was going and Sam didn't know he knew. Dean could work with that. He had to- there was nothing else up his sleeve. Well, there was one thing. He could give the truth one last try.

Sam had been quiet all day, moodily reading in a chair outside their motel room door. He didn't look up as Dean dropped down beside him, only reacting when the bottle of beer his brother held out dripped a bead of condensation onto his book.

"Dean," he hissed. "Watch you you're doing. And the drinking age here is twenty-one. All I need is to get busted for underage drinking now."

Dean looked around the seedy motel parking lot. No one was paying them any mind. "Don't think anyone here is going to turn you in, Sammy. And you're twenty-two, so you're safe anyway."

Sam shot him an aggrieved look. "Just because the fake i.d. you made for me says that doesn't make it true, Dean."

Dean sighed and dropped a newspaper on top of his brother's book. "What year was this published, Francis?"

"What, you forgot your numbers?" Sam grumbled, but he picked the paper up and glanced at the date. "2002."

"I forgot my numbers?" Dean scoffed. "It says 2006, Sam."

"No, it doesn't! Did you hit your head or something? It says 2002! If it were 2006 I'd already..." He trailed off, giving his brother a sidelong glance.

"You'd already what?" Dean challenged. "Already have graduated from Stanford? Already be applying to law school in California? What would you have already done, Sam?"

Sam's expression wavered between shock and anger. "How did you...?"

"How did I know you're going to college? Because it's freakin' 2006 and Stanford's been there, done that. I wish I could say this "normal life" thing is going to work out for you, I really do. But it's not, so why don't you just plan on staying here,"

"God, Dean, could you sound any more crazy? Now tell me how you found out!"

"I found out four years ago when you told me. When you left us to go to college."

"Does Dad know?" Sam asked, eyes narrowing.

"Yeah, he knows. What part of 'all this has happened before' aren't you getting?"

"The part where it _didn't_ all happen before."

"You don't believe me?"

"No, Dean," Sam snapped. "I don't believe you. What you're saying is nuts. How could all this have already happened?"

"Well," Dean took a deep breath- this hadn't ever worked when he'd tried it before, but hey, you never know, "you were cursed. You started out being a two-year old and we've been in a holding pattern for weeks waiting for you to grow all the way back up again by saying _no_ to Dad."

Sam shook his head in disgust. "I don't know why I'm even listening to you." He tossed his unopened beer bottle back into Dean's lap. "And I'm too young to drink in public, no matter what crazy idea you've got."

Dean opened Sam's beer, grimacing as it foamed over his fingers. _Well, that probably pushed him right out the door_, he thought. His brother had gone back inside and he settled into his chair, sure that he could hear Sam's upcoming conversation with their father through the open window as well as Dad had heard Sam's with him.

"So," Sam said hesitantly. "Dean says you know I'm planning on going to Stanford."

"I do. I've known for a while." John kept his voice matter of fact.

"How come you didn't say anything?"

"Would anything I say keep you from going?"

"No." Sam's voice was quiet but determined.

"Would anything I _do_ keep you from going?"

"No."

"Then what's the point of saying or doing anything?"

"To keep me from going? There isn't one. But you could have said 'congratulations, son. I'm proud of you.' You could have talked to me about what my plans are or what I'm going to study. The _point_ would have been to show you give a damn."

"Congratulations, son." Dean stood up and looked in the window in time to see his father shake Sam's hand. "And I am proud of you. I always have been. How long before you have to leave?"

"About six weeks," Sam answered, eyeing his father perplexedly.

"Great," John said with a smile. "That should give us plenty of time to get everything said that we need to say."

Dean sank back into his chair with a relieved sigh and chugged his beer. Six weeks. So far the longest Sam had stayed at one age was four days. They weren't going to lose him again.

Twenty

The ramshackle cabin they were holed up in now was isolated far from the edge of town. John and Dean had no illusions at all about how Sam at twenty would react to being back with his family instead of at Stanford.

"What the hell," Sam bellowed, sound carrying far into the surrounding countryside, "am I doing here?"

"Take it easy, Sammy," Dean said cautiously holding up a hand. "Don't you remember anything?"

"No!" Sam yelled. "What did you do? Roofie me and bring me to this dump to try an intervention? I'm not coming back, Dean!"

"He said take it easy, son," John snapped. "And we didn't bring you anywhere. We _found_ you here.

"Found me," Sam replied in disbelief. "What, I was lost?"

"More like taken against your will," Dean answered, hoping his brother would buy the story they'd cooked up.

"Taken?" Sam eyed his brother suspiciously. "Taken by who? You?"

"Taken by whom, is more like it, Sam." Dean fought a smile at his brother's bitchface. "But in your case it was more of a what. You sure you don't remember?"

"No," Sam whispered. "I don't. Why don't I remember?"

"What's the last thing you do remember?" John asked settling into a chair, his eyes never leaving his pacing son.

"I was having dinner with Jess." Sam's eyes widened in horror. "Jess! I've got to go." He fumbled in his pocket as he headed for the door. "Where are my keys?"

John blocked the door as Dean slowly approached his brother. "You don't have keys, Sammy. However you got here, you didn't drive."

"Then give me your keys." Sam demanded. "I've got to get back there and make sure she's okay."

Any humor Dean had felt evaporated at his brother's panic. He swallowed the lump of grief in his throat as he lied to Sam's face. "She's fine, Sam. We checked on her, don't worry. But you've got to stay here until we figure out what took you and why. If you go back, it might just come after you again and this time she _could_ get hurt."

Sam nodded slowly, though his fists were clenched with the effort of holding himself still. "You're sure she's okay?"

John nodded, turning away before he met his son's eyes. "Sit down Sam. We need to go over everything that happened before you lost your memory."

Sam's jaw tightened, but he sank onto one of the beds. "There was nothing," he said angrily. "No strange people, no strange smells, no cold spots. I would have noticed."

"Would you?" Dean hated himself at this moment. "You've been out of the game for a while now. You sure you're not just a civilian now? Think maybe you lost your touch?"

"No," Sam said, between gritted teeth. "No, I'm not a civilian like I wish the hell I was. And no, I haven't lost my touch."

"We'll figure this out, son." John's voice was gentle, soothing, but Sam was having none of it.

"Damn right, we will," he growled. "Because I am _not_ staying here."

"Let's get started, then. Have you had any memory lapses before this?"

"No," Sam answered tersely.

"No missing time, no blank spots?"

"No."

John led Sam through every question he could think of, getting the same answer every time, until everyone involved was exhausted and aggravated. "Get some sleep, boys. We'll pick this up again in the morning." When neither moved, he added, "That's an order."

"No," Sam argued, stifling a yawn. "I want to keep going."

"Go to sleep, Sam. If you're tired you might forget something and this will take even longer to figure out."

Sam nodded and reluctantly stretched out on one of the beds. Within moments he was asleep.

"I'll take first watch," John told Dean. "He'll try to take off if we're not careful."

Dean took the other bed and soon his deep breathing joined Sam's. John watched them and made plans for tomorrow. This age had to be gotten over and done with quickly or there could be real trouble.

The next day passed the same as the first one had, with Sam getting angrier and more anxious about Jessica. They were just a few "nos" short of a hundred when Dean called a break. You could cut the tension in the room with a knife and it wouldn't take much for everything to come to an incendiary head. A cooling off period was a necessity and a longstanding Winchester tradition. Unfortunately neither John nor Dean noticed that Sam had snagged Dean's cell phone before they headed out to get some fresh air. By the time they came back inside it was too late.

"I tried calling her," Sam said, staring blankly at the phone in his hand, "but there was someone else at her number. So I called her parents."

Dean's heart stopped, frozen in his chest at the rage flaring from his brother's eyes. "Sam," he started, then hesitated, not knowing what to say.

"You told me she was safe," Sam said softly, a terrifying anger in his voice. "But she's not, is she?"

Dean shook his head slowly. "I'm sorry, Sam."

"Did you know that her parents think _I_ killed her," Sam asked in that same low voice. "What did I do, Dean?"

"_You_ didn't do anything. You didn't hurt Jessica."

"Did whatever was possessing me do it?"

"No! Get that thought out of your head. You tried to save her; you would never have hurt her."

Sam's eyes narrowed, burning into his brother. "How do you know what I did? Were you there when she died?"

"Dean," John warned, but his son ignored him.

"I was there. And I saw you try to help her. But there was no way, Sammy. She died like mom, and there was no way to save her."

"Like mom?" Sam scoffed. "You expect me to believe that? I don't know what game you're playing here, but you've been lying to me this whole time and I'm out of here."

"You're staying here, Sam," John said firmly. "It's not safe for you out there."

"No way," Sam replied. "Jess is _dead_ and you've been lying to me about it since I got here. You can both go to hell." He pushed past Dean and headed for the door, only to come around swinging when his father grabbed his arm.

"I said you're staying here," John growled, pinning his struggling son against the cabin wall.

"And I said no," Sam shouted back, trying to break his father's grip.

John shifted slightly and lost his grasp on Sam's shirt as it stretched across the younger man's chest so tightly that there was nothing left to hold onto. They'd learned to get Sam's pants a size larger than he needed so, while the hem was suddenly an inch or two above his sneaker tops, the legs didn't look like two sausages joined at the crotch.

John stepped back a few paces and exchanged a relieved glance with Dean, who had been blocking the door. "Finally," they sighed in unison.

Twenty-two

Sam stood frozen against the sagging wall, gaze flicking nervously between his father and his brother. "Christo," he muttered, his expression clearing as neither pair of eyes flashed black. "What happened," he asked plaintively. "We were in the woods with the fairy..." he winced and rubbed his aching head. "Weren't we?"

John nodded. "We were."

"So how did we get here?" Sam took in the duffles spread across the room and the obvious signs of a struggle. "Wait...this isn't where we were staying." He stared at his father accusingly. "What the hell happened, Dad?"

"I should have listened to you, Sam," John admitted, shocking both of his sons.

"About what?" Sam asked.

"About having a better plan. About having more backup." John rubbed his mouth in chagrin. "You were right and I should have listened to you."

"So what did happen?" Sam demanded.

John sighed and nodded at Dean. "Why don't you fill your brother in while I do a little recon. There hasn't been a peep out of the damned thing since it cursed Sam. Maybe it's already gone."

"Dad," Dean said at the same time his brother said, "cursed?"

"Don't worry, Dean. I'll be careful." He grinned as he headed out the door. "Sammy, have we got a story for you."

Dean stared at the door until Sam punched him in the arm. "Dean! Tell me! What happened after Dad and I ran into the fairy."

"Well," Dean grinned, worry over his father sidelined for the moment, "apparently this fairy didn't like Dad using the word "no" to it. So it cursed you back to a two year old who had to say "no" to Dad a thousand times before you'd be yourself again."

"I was two years old?" Sam looked horrified. "How long did it take for me to be me again?"

"You were always you Sam, no matter what age you were. But you weren't two the whole time, thank God. For every hundred "nos" you aged two years. So we got a kind of sampling of little, medium and large Sammy until we got back to extra large again." Dean sat on the bed and patted the mattress beside him. "Have a seat Francis and I'll tell you the story of Sam and the Thousand "Nos"."

When John returned Dean was practically rolling on the floor with laughter and even Sam was grinning widely.

"Tell me about the last one, Dean. How did you get me all the way back?"

Dean's smile died and he straightened up on the bed. "No, Sam. I don't want to talk about that one. You were supposed to be at Stanford and...it wasn't at all fun or funny and it won't do any good to dredge it all up again." He met his brother's eyes seriously. "Okay?"

Sam nodded slowly, though it was clear he wanted to know. "Okay, Dean."

They both turned to their father with questioning looks as John shrugged and dropped into a chair. "It was gone," he said angrily. "The retrieval spell I tried didn't work. Unless the fairy returns them, I think those boys are gone for good." John's hand strayed to the back pocket of his jeans, fingering the envelope he'd tucked into it. The fairy had been gone, but it had left him a message.

In silver ink, on fine white paper, it had written in an elegant hand:

_Mortal,_

We will not meet again, you and I, but I have foreseen that on another day, your sons will cross my path. Think on that and despair.

John thought on that and managed not to despair. Any supernatural being that thought crossing paths with his sons was a good thing had a nasty surprise in store for it. Next time, they'd be ready for it. "All right, boys," he said. "We've been stuck here long enough. Pack up, we're moving out."

"Where to?" Dean asked.

"Got a lead on a nice straightforward angry spirit we could check out," John replied.

"No chance of Sammy here, getting himself cursed back to an itty bitty baby again?"

"Bite me," Sam said with a grin. "I was an adorable kid."

"Can't argue with that." Dean grabbed his duffle and raced his brother to the door. "But trust me, Sammy. Twice was enough."

John followed more slowly, watching his boys roughhouse on the way to the car. For a moment he wished that he could make both of them small again; start all over, but only for a moment. The time for changing anything with his sons was long past. The demon hadn't shown itself, but it was looming on the horizon, he could feel it. He closed his eyes and remembered Sammy's wide eyed innocence and the happiness on Dean's face as he played with his little brother. The fairy thought that it had cursed them, but actually it had given them a gift. Time enough to sit in one place and just be a family, if only for a little while. It was enough. It would have to be.

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